


Las Vegas or Bust!

by SavageNymphXII



Series: The Captain and the Crew [1]
Category: Ocean's (Movies), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossover, F/M, M/M, Ocean's Eleven - Fusion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2018-08-29 02:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8472571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SavageNymphXII/pseuds/SavageNymphXII
Summary: Following three rules: Don't hurt anybody, don't steal from anyone who doesn't deserve it, and play the game like you've got nothing to lose. James T. Kirk orchestrates the most sophisticated, elaborate casino heist in history.





	1. The Captain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RATING WILL CHANGE IN LATER CHAPTERS
> 
> Summary is pretty much pulled from the summary of Ocean’s Eleven, it fit and I’m not that creative for summaries. I try and be for the actual fiction writing part. There’s probably going to be a lot of OOC going on, but I’m going to be combing through this so much that I’m hoping to avoid that as much as possible. No beta for this (yet?).
> 
> Inspired by a lovely fan-made video and gif set that’s been floating around tumblr for forever (both links are provided in the beginning of fic), as well as the Ocean’s Trilogy. It took me much longer to put the Star Trek characters where I wanted them. There’s only a couple of TOS characters all others are from the AOS-verse. There will probably be at least one OC but nothing major, and not in this first part, I think. Any other minor characters that might be needed will be pulled from the Ocean-verse as I see fit.
> 
> There’s also a character that I’ll be using for the main plot that I’ve taken artistic liberty in his appearance. Since this is an AU and this character is strictly alien, there’s nothing to back it up with in reference to human counterpart. So I took it upon myself. Don’t think I need to explain that, it’s fiction after all, but thought I’d mention it anyway.
> 
> I don’t own any of these verses and I’m not making any sort of money off of this.

[Video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rhXxF-r93Sk) and [gif set](http://trektags.tumblr.com/post/53316960628/wintersoldiers-star-trek-heist-au-pike) that inspired this work.

 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-  
Atlantic City, New Jersey  
-*-*-*-*-*-*-

  
Jim scratched his jaw, nails rasping against his beard he had trimmed just for this hearing, straightened his uniform, the beige shirt always laying too big on him, but at least it was clean. He needed this to go well, it was his first chance and he would be damned if he spent another year following the rules. His skin was itching to break free, to return to his own life. _Well_ , he thought bitterly, standing as his name was called, _perhaps not entirely._ He pushed away the memories that he had, needing to focus with the task on hand.

  
He sat down in the lone chair provided, facing the stony faced panel ahead. Blue eyes, open but guarded. The time hadn’t been too hard, the food was awful, but he had managed to finally tame his mouth to not start a brawl. _See, Bones, I can change_ , the thought floated in his head, irony wrapped around it. He sat down methodically, remembering every form of posture, and manners that his mother had pushed onto him and Sam growing up.

  
Hands clasped together in his lap, expression as open as can be, nodding in a silent greeting to the panel before him. Blue eyes meeting, briefly, to all three set that were watching him.

  
“State your name for the record,” said the only woman in the panel, clearly in charge, her tone crisp and clear. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face, sharp dark eyes watched him closely.

  
“James Tiberius Kirk,” Jim answered automatically, keeping his tone neutral. He could do this, he’d charmed his way out of worse before.

  
“Thank you,” though Jim thought that the thanks was more of an auto response, than actual gratitude from the woman. He watched as she moved around the documents in front of her. His gaze straying to two others, both men and significantly older than the woman. “Mr. Kirk, the purpose of this hearing is to determine, whether, if released, you are likely to break the law again.” Her tone gave no indication if she thought one way or another, and Jim was given no room to answer as she continued. “While this was your first conviction, you have been implicated, though never charged, in over a dozen other confidence schemes and frauds.” Her sharp eyes looked up, landing on Jim’s blue ones, “what can you tell us about this?”

  
Jim shifted in his seat, fingers fitting against each other, “It’s as you said, ma’am,” keeping his expression clear, and tone just as professional as hers. “I was never charged.”

  
He knew the answer was unsatisfactory, could see it in the looks they gave each other at his response.

  
The dark skinned man to her right spoke up, “Mr. Kirk, what we’re trying to find out is, was there a reason that you chose to commit this crime?” Jim opened his mouth, preparing to answer, “or was there simply a reason you got caught _this_ time?”

  
Jim took a breath, giving it a moment to prepare himself to say, mostly the truth, “my husband left me. I was upset. I got into a self-destructive pattern.” His tone was flat, and he regretted it in that moment, regretted not pouring more emotion into it. But there was a flicker in the woman’s eyes, though it passed too quickly for him to be able to identify.

  
“If released is it likely you’d fall back into a similar pattern?” She asked, her sharp eyes following him, dark brows pinched slightly in the middle.

  
Bright eyes landed heavily on hers, “he already left me once, I don’t think he’d do it again just for kicks.” This time his voice had an inflection of pain to it, though he buried it as best as possible. He suddenly wanted the hearing to be over with, not giving a damn how it went, just needing to be done talking about _him,_ to complete strangers. Even if said strangers held his freedom in their hands.

  
There was a silence that hung heavy in the air after his statement, as if they could all sense what he was thinking, the woman’s expression softened just along the edges, barely noticeable. “Mr. Kirk, what do you think you _would_ do, if released?”  
  
_This_ question Jim had been ready for, “I’d do what any man with sense would do when his husband leaves him,” a grin filtering across Jim’s face, making his expression seem much younger, “I’d do whatever it takes to get him back and make sure to never make the same mistake again.” His grin was _blinding_ , it was as honest as they were going to get from him.

  
He didn’t hear about the verdict of his parole hearing until two weeks later, when one of the regular guards stopped by to inform him that he would be released the following day. His shoulders had sagged, and he had been unable to hide the stupid grin that had shown on his face. He would be out of the cold grey walls of the prison in less than 24 hours. In his own clothes, with actual food.

  
Then, then there would be hunting to do.

  
The thought kept him going, all through the next day.

  
“Kirk, James,” he stated, waiting for the guard to hand him the form that would state Jim received back his possessions.

  
“Sign,” the man said, pointing to a bottom line, exchanging the form for a heavy envelope, “this came for you today. Rest’ll be forwarded to your parole officer.”

  
Jim’s blonde brows knitted together as he read the name on the return address, “those your lawyers man?” The guard uncaring that he read the name himself.

  
Jim only hummed as a response, curious, he opened his mail, glazing over the papers within, a shadow of a smirk on his lips. He tucks the papers back in the envelope, giving the guard his most charming smile. When he receives his personal belongings, he makes quick work of changing into the tux he had been wearing when he had been arrested. The fit was a little tighter around his shoulders and chest now, but it would do until he was able to produce a better alternative. He fingered the wedding band, gripping it tightly in his hand, the metal cold against his warm hand.

  
As if through a daze he walked out, letting himself enjoy the freedom of the fresh air for just a moment before his instincts focused on only one thing. The job. Not wasting time he made it quickly to the nearest safe house, he had set up in the event of needing to lay low. Or in this case, needing a shower, change of clothes and money.

  
He sent a silent thanks to Spock that everything was still functioning when he arrived to the small studio. Longing to lay in an actual bed, but too focused and driven to stop even for a moment. Jim worked on making himself more presentable, dressing quickly, a new face looking back at him once he had washed and shaved. He grinned, brushing his hands down the better fitted suit he had chosen, and set out to seek out the nearest of his closest associates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may or may not be a lengthy fic, I tend to ramble (check out the long ass author notes for reference). I can’t say how many chapters, because I just don’t know myself how many. The chapters themselves will probably fluctuate, but I guess that doesn’t necessarily mean there will be many chapters.
> 
> Most of this fic will jump POVs (but mostly Jim's). You’ll be able to tell when and who’s POV. I’m following along with the Ocean movie(s) for this, like a redux, heavily. I have ideas though for the second and third to pull away more from the Ocean-verse, but no promises. This one is already going to have scenes that were not in the movie. I’m going to try and work elements from both the Star Trek AOS verse and the Ocean’s verse. TRY. Also, going to try for no first person, if you spot any of that, hit me up and I’ll edit it.
> 
> Creative criticism always appreciated.


	2. The Inside Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first of the crew is finally seen, and mentions of the Captain's second.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-  
Atlantic City, New Jersey  
-*-*-*-*-*-*-

  
Christine always prided herself in being in the know, of knowing the comings and going of those around her. Subtly was her middle name, and when that didn’t get her what she wanted, a few bats of her lashes certainly didn’t hurt. So when she made her way to relieve her counterpart at the Black Jack table, she fought to hide the surprise in her expression at who was sitting there. From the look she received back she was sure she had failed.

  
She gave a nod and farewell to her counterpart, going through the routine of preparing for the next hand, “how are you, sir?” Keeping her trained eye on her hands, only glancing once at the lone man sitting at the table. Her eyes darting back down to her hands.

  
“Hello, Christine.” Jim’s voice drawled, cheerful and charming as she remembered it. She froze momentarily, raising her gaze once more and stopping her movements.

  
"I beg your pardon, sir,” she tilted her chin up just slightly, clear eyes pinning Jim’s blue ones down, needing him to know that what she said was important, “you must have me confused with someone _else_.” Her lips tugged up at their corners in a small, seemingly apologetic smile, “my name is _Nancy_. As you can see right here.” Her manicured finger tapping at the name tag on her uniform blouse.

  
The silence hung for a moment, as Christine resumed her task, and broke her gaze from Jim’s. “My mistake,” he apologized, she missed how his eyes shown with amusement, and how he watched her every move.

  
“No problem, sir.” She said, just finishing up with setting the chips in her preferred way, cards ready. She looked up once more when she saw him rise, brows rising up with him in question.  
  
He gave her a smirk, “the table is cold,” Jim said as an explanation, already collecting his earned chips.

  
She hummed at his words, “you might want to try the lounge at the Caesar’s, it gets busy after one o’clock,” she rested her hands on the table, fingers splayed out. “Or so I’ve been told.”  
  
“I’ll have to check it out then, while I’m still in town.” His smirk turning into a grin, eyes warm, “thanks, Nancy.” Without further pretense Jim walked off, leaving Christine to tend to an empty table. A thrill of anticipation running through her at Jim’s return, she knew what it meant.

  
———

  
Like clockwork, Christine showed up at precisely one o’clock, to the practically empty bar, a little surprised to see that Jim was already there. He had never been one much for punctuality, but then again, four years of routine could change that from someone, she supposed. She gracefully sat into the stool next to his, noticing that she had caught _him_ by surprise, and catching a glimpse of a news clipping he had in his hand. It was frayed and looked as if it had been folded and unfolded several times. He stowed it away once he realized she had taken a seat next to him.

  
“Catching up on current events?” She nodded towards the clipping being tucked back into his pocket, eyes with a question, but never prying. She crossed a leg over the other, sitting a little straighter.

  
Jim raised a brow, “Nancy.” It was both a question and a statement, deflecting from her question.

  
“Pleasure to meet you,” Christine said, her tone a false friendliness she used with gamblers, and the smile to go along with it. “Christine Chapel can’t get past the Gaming Board.” Her smile turned pinched at the statement, but she shook it off for a more genuine one, “just got out?” She signaled the bartender for a drink, keeping an eye on Jim as he raised his to his lips.

  
“This afternoon,” Jim answered easily behind his glass, eyes on Christine’s even as her drink arrived and she stirred the straw in it. “Have you seen him?” A blonde brow hiking up in question, not beating around the bush.

  
Christine matched his brow with one of her own, “who?” She kept in direct contact with a few, and tabs on several. She wouldn’t freely assume which one Jim meant.

  
She caught a hint of an expression filter through Jim’s eyes for a second, before being hidden away, “my XO,” he said casually.

  
“Straight to it, as always. I knew I kept you around for a reason.” Her delight shown through her eyes, not commenting on what could have been a trick of the light, “last I _heard_ he was teaching movie stars how to play cards.” She waved a hand to ward off his exclamation at that, “that’s what _I_ said and then went through other sources. I think the more reliable source is that he’s mentoring children how to be chess masters.” Her shoulders raised in a shrug, “neither source is very reliable, and neither sound like something he would be doing.”

  
The drink she had been stirring finally made it to her lips, she savored it for a moment, “but both sources say he’s out west, there’s no doubt about that.” Christine took another sip, surveying him this time over the rim of it as she set it back down, “why?” eyes narrowing, “you have a job?” Both of her sculpted brows shooting up, surprised, and slightly awed.

  
She watched as her male companion, his features so similar to hers, finished his drink, licking his lips as he chased the flavor, “are you kidding? I just became a citizen again.” The amusement was in his voice, and at his statement Christine let out a small laugh. Her hand landing on his arm in a friendly squeeze.

  
“Right, of course, Jim, and you have always been the model citizen.” Her grin turned smug, and knowing. Leaning towards her, he began to hint at what was running through his wild, genius mind. He knew he had her when she leaned back, with barely any information and finished her drink, clearing her throat and leaving a few bills on the counter.

  
Christine slid off the stool, finally going for the embrace she’d wanted to give her fellow conman, and friend, “good to have you back, Captain,” she said low in his ear, pulling back she gave him another warm smile and walked away, buzzing in excitement. Her blood was singing to her for the thrill, the risk, the _challenge_ , and the payout that was sure to come. Squaring her shoulders her mind ready and set, mentally preparing to set things in motion on her end, knowing where she was needed.

  
———

  
Later, after relaxing at the lounge for some time after Christine’s departure, Jim made the call that reminded him of his current legal situation. Tapping his foot impatiently as he stood outside, the antique payphone making itself useful, probably for the first time in years. He let his gaze wander to the chipped paint, unfocused on the graffiti that marked it as the tone rang in his ear, idly wondering if Brent really was a good time.

  
“Barnett,” a gruff voice answered him.

  
“Officer Barnett, this is Jim, James Kirk,” Jim said, snapping back to business as the phone was answered, “I was told to contact you within 24 hours..?” He let the question hang, hating how the whole process made him feel, how it reminded him of how his life had changed.

  
“Kirk.. Kirk..” Rustling could be heard in the background, a moment of silence while Barnett glanced over his file, “hmm.. been getting into any trouble, Kirk?” His tone suggested that he didn’t really care for the answer.

  
“No, sir, no trouble here.”

  
“Been drinking tonight?”

  
“No, sir, I haven’t been drinking.” Now Jim had to bit the inside of his cheek to not let his smile be heard through the phone. “No, sir, I wouldn’t even think about leaving the state.” He couldn’t fight the grin when the question had registered to him. Hanging up shortly after that, he climbed into the cab that had been waiting for him.

  
“Atlantic City International,” he said, grin still in place, his excitement growing at the thought of reuniting with his right hand man. _Maybe this time I’ll get a reaction out of him,_ he thought with a soft snort.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to give hints, one TOS character was vaguely (stressing the vaguely) mentioned in chapter one. Chapter two finds us with two TOS characters mentioned. Christine wasn't directly shown in AOS, but she was mentioned in both Star Trek: 2009 (Bones) and Star Trek: Into Darkness (Carol).


	3. The XO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's show the world the Captain's right-hand man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter is a little longer than the previous ones, but that doesn't mean chapters are going to get longer. They'll continue to fluctuate. I was going to wait until after the November holiday to post this, but it's been done for months, and figured I'd do it a little early. For those who celebrate, Happy Thanksgiving, safe travels and such!

-*-*-*-*-*-*-  
Hollywood, California  
-*-*-*-*-*-*-

  
“He was released yesterday afternoon. I won’t be surprised if he drops by within the next day or so. Even if it violates his parole.” Said the exasperated voice on the other end of the line.

“Understood,” Spock replied, already mentally preparing for any quotes of laws and regulations to fall on deaf ears when Jim would make his inevitable appearance. “Thank you, Number One.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she quipped back, “it’s only dumb luck that I was at that hearing. Watch out for him.” Before Spock could answer the call ended, brief and to the point as it always was when speaking to the woman.

He pocketed the communicator and allowed himself just a brief moment to his own thoughts, his dark brows pulling together slightly, the only sign of his inner thoughts. He was brought out of his musings by a familiar voice.

“Ishmael!”

A brow raised as his name of choice was called, stepping forward and following the owner of said voice, though quickly passing him, long since knowing the way. Letting his companion’s rambling and questions wash over him, mentally preparing himself for the “research” session, as it had been dubbed, ahead of him. He could feel his patience being tested tonight. That is, until he walked through the door of the backroom. Try as he might, he felt his eyes widen a fraction, as they landed on familiar blue eyes.

“Ishmael, this is Jim, he’s joining us.. If that’s alright..” his companion trailed off, suddenly unsure, used to Spock’s stoic mannerism, but intimidated by the silent man.

Spock blinked away the surprise, nodding once and settling himself at the table, selecting the open chair across from Jim. The people around him began to settle a bit more, seeming to not pick up the shift in the atmosphere between Jim and Spock. Conversation started up once more while the cards were dealt out.

The young aspiring actor who Spock had been attempting to teach a basic game of poker spoke up first, “so Mr. Kirk—”

“Call me, Jim, Linus. ‘Mr. Kirk’ was my father,” Jim didn’t look up from his cards, discreetly arranging them in his hands.

Linus shifted a bit in his seat, glancing sideways at Spock who was watching Jim closely, “Jim. What do you do for a living, if you don’t mind me asking?” His tone was uncertain, and it made Spock fight to keep his expression neutral. Inwardly he was amused (not that he’d ever admit it) and curious that such a question was asked straight away, wondering what Jim would say

“Why would I mind you asking?” The blonde man’s voice was calm, but his gaze was sharp, coming up to Spock’s as the game started, “two cards.” The intense gaze was moved to the man who’d asked the question, “I just go out of prison.”

A ripple of uncertainty went through the young group, “really?” Linus asked, glancing around at his friends. “Why were you in prison?” The question seemed to surprise even him, but he held his ground.

“I stole things.” Jim’s brows were furrowed, though his tone didn’t waver, eyes back on his cards.

“You stole things? Like.. Jewels, diamonds—?”

“Romulan matrimonial head masks,” Spock’s voice interrupting. He felt a wave of irritation, at remembering said job, attempt really. It had been four years since he had last seen Jim because of that botched job. He kept his hands in his lap, clasped together, he never played himself, simply the observer. This crowd was too inexperienced to offer him more of a challenge than to his patience. Sometimes he would wonder why he subjected himself to such a tedious task, then he would remember it was all for the favor he was earning for his troubles.

“Any money in those.. Romulan matrimonial head masks..?” Linus began, looking between Spock and Jim.

Jim’s blue eyes were still on his cards, though he glanced up once to look at Linus, “there’s some.

Linus immediately looked at Spock, as if to confirm, “‘some’ is an inadequate calculation, but not completely untrue..if you can move them.” Spock moved his gaze from Jim for the first time to address Linus directly, “which you cannot.”

“Only if you lack vision.” A smirk was tugging at the corner of Jim’s lips, though Spock remained expressionless.

“You need more than ‘vision’ to obtain the desired results.” It was the same argument they had, had before Jim had decided to go along with the self-destructive plan. A small raise of his eyebrow to Jim, and the contact was broken. Kicking off an impromptu lesson in bluffing for the actor and his friends, and leaving the pot to Jim.

Spock stood before the next hand was dealt, the session was up, and he would waste no more pretenses in waiting around. He stood “Linus,” he said simply, acknowledging his ‘client’ as he always did before his departure. The stoic man didn’t wait for a response as he made his exit, stopping once he arrived outside in the warm night. The heat wrapped around him, a comfort he gladly took as he made his way to his vehicle.

A short time later, while Spock still waited, Jim finally emerged, his grin wild and vicious. Meeting Spock’s dark eyes, he opened the passenger door and slid inside.

“Long time no see.. _Ishmael_.” Spock fought to roll his eyes at Jim’s teasing tone. “You can’t _not_ tell me the story behind that one. It’s new, even for _me_.”  

Spock kept his eyes forward as he began to drive, Jim not pressing for Spock to tell him more, sitting silently next to him instead. This, more than anything, had Spock glancing, at the blonde. Though Jim carried about an easy, aloof air about him, stillness wasn’t in the man’s nature. Confinement for four years had taken it’s toll, Spock could see that.

“It is the name my mother had originally desired for me.” Spock finally said simply.

Jim hummed, “it suits you, in a weird way. Though ‘Spock’ sounds more interesting.” The grin could be heard in his voice, even without Spock turning to look at him.

“How long?” Spock asked, driving down familiar streets. They both knew that he already knew the answer, the brunet never asked a question he didn’t already have the answer to.

“Yesterday,” came the easy reply.

“Is it, unwise, for you to be so far, so soon.”

“Yeah, well.. You looked bored.” There was a huff of laughter that followed the statement.

Spock pursed his lips in a harsh line, refusing to comment as he pulled into a familiar driveway.

  
———

  
“Tea? Spock..” Jim almost _whined_ some time later, there was a groan from the nearby table, that Spock ignored as he continued with his task, back turned to Jim. 

“You are breaking your parole by being here, Jim, you do not need to add to that list.” Ever the voice of reason, laws and regulations already repeating themselves in Spock’s mind.

The blonde didn’t respond, simply relaxing back into the chair he had taken up. Once settled across from Jim, teas set in front of them, Spock finally asked, “what are the details?”

“Something grand, never been done before.” Jim responded simply, Spock raised a brow, there were limited things that could fall under that category. The Romulan Incident falling into said category. “It’s going to need _planning_ and a large crew.” 

That got Spock to raise both brows, “security?” Mind whirling already even with the vague information.

“Not exactly, there’s a lot of it, but the payout—”

“The target?”

“—Eight figures.”

“ _The target,_ Jim?” Now Spock’s gaze was steadily on Jim’s. He knew the blonde could be ruled by his emotions, and needed to know this wasn’t just Jim lashing out. He watched closely as Jim sat back a bit, lifting his cup.

“When was the last time you were in Vegas?” His question asked over the rim of his cup, lightly blowing on it.

For a beat or two Spock stared at Jim, “a casino.” He could see the wheels turning in Jim’s head, ready to back up this ‘vision’ of his. Shaking his head, Jim raises his free hand as he takes a sip, showing three digits.

Spock froze, his own cup suspended halfway to his lips, he stares at Jim’s fingers, then to blue eyes and back. Setting down his cup, his brows pulled together, expression becoming pinched. Jim knew he had, at least, Spock’s curiosity when the brunet didn’t respond. Pulling out a PADD from the inside of his suit jacket. Jim set it in between them, tapping away and pulling up several blue prints. At last pushing it towards Spock, “it’s the vault at the Bellagio.” Pushing his cup aside, Spock brought the tablet closer to him, steady fingers moving around the images, zooming in and out, dark and heavy brows knitted together.

“Jim,” after a moment of him studying, “this is the least accessible vault I have ever seen.” He wondered if that’s why Jim had chosen it, the complexity of it wouldn't be enough though, not for Jim.

“I know,” Jim’s tone smug.

“You said there were three?” Spock handed him back the PADD, Jim however set it back down between them. Pointing at a different part of the same vault.

“The Bellagio, Mirage, and M.G.M., they all filter in through here,” pointing at their designated spots.

“Those are Nero’s casinos.” Spock said quickly.

“Are they? Hmm.. I hadn’t noticed.” But a smirk was on Jim’s face, ruining the innocent statement. “Think he’ll mind?”

Spock sat back, “you would require, at least, a dozen other associates, simultaneously working multiple schemes at the same time. In precise order. The chances of it failing rise greatly with the number of people that this will require.” There was a pause where Spock took a sip of his cooling tea, Jim knew by now that Spock was still thinking, pondering the job, “where do you expect to get the financial support for such a task?”

Jim rubbed his chin, “Nero has a long list of enemies.”

“Enemies with nothing to lose. Which means they are at a higher risk of divulging information should their involvement be discovered.” Spock’s tone was firm, but Jim’s grin and look didn’t waver. Spock studied him, tilting his head, and then finally it clicked, “Pike.”

The grin on Jim’s face was _predatory_. But Spock was frowning again, the job itself was grand, and complex, a challenge that Jim nor Spock rarely found, but that alone didn’t fall into Jim’s rules, “why?”

Jim scoffed, though his grin wavered a moment, “why not?”

“I would not believe you if you say it were for the credits,” Jim wasn’t a two-bit thief, he always had a reason. It was part of his rules. The only rules he followed.

The blonde sighed, shifting in his seat, “because yesterday I was released from prison, after losing four years of my life, wearing my entire wardrobe, and you’re bored. Bored with pretty boys, playing at men. Because we _can_ do this.” Jim’s hand landed solidly on Spock’s shoulder, their first contact since Spock laid eyes on the blonde sitting at the poker table.

Spock didn’t answer for a moment, in truth he would follow Jim, trusting his friend’s instincts. Though trusting his own to keep them in one piece, and free. His shoulders relaxed after a moment, giving a stiff nod, “very well, Captain.”

Jim beamed and squeezed his shoulder once, pulling back and finishing his tea, “wonder what Pike will say.."


	4. The Driver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of two drivers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the silence! I promise that this is already done for at least 10 chapters, but holidays blow and I lost motivation for this type of writing for a bit there. I got sucked into RP, heavily. BUT, I'm working on a healthy balance of my life so here's a chapter that's been written for months. Will probably post the next one tomorrow as a sorry.. And of course keep writing so I can finish this. So many still to meet!

-*-*-*-*-*-*-  
Salt Lake City, Utah  
-*-*-*-*-*-*-

  
Hikaru alongside his vehicle, keeping to himself as he usually did, while the others who had arrived boasted, and generally trashed talked before the races. He flexed his hand hanging at his side, skin crawling to get behind the wheel, for the adrenaline to start pumping and the rubber to burn. He felt his communicator buzz in his pocket, his private communicator, that was only given out to his mother, father, and a handful of life long friends.

  
He pulled it out and looked at the number, dark eyes not recognizing the digits. Taking a few steps away from the crowd, he put the device to his ear as he answered the call, remaining silent.

  
“Hikaru Sulu,” the voice, male, said, “street racer extraordinaire, and one of the members to the Kobayashi Maru job.” Hikaru sucked in an audible breath, “don’t hang up! I have a proposal for you.” Hikaru could here the grin in the other man’s voice, but he still hesitated. Only the ones who’d actually pulled that job, and their mysterious benefactor knew about the _Kobayashi Maru_ job.

  
“Who is this? How did you get this number?” Hikaru immediately questioned, deciding if he was found out, he at least wanted to know who it was on the other line. His instincts said it was probably the same benefactor, but it never hurt to be cautious.

  
There was a soft chuckle, “let’s just say that I know the right people.” There was definitely a smug tone in the voice now, a tone that made Hikaru’s jaw clench, noting that the mystery caller didn’t bother identifying themselves. “So are you interested? In my proposal?”

  
“What is it?” He wanted to snap, he was curious by nature, but first he needed to know that the man on the other end of the line wasn’t a Federation agent.

  
“The typical, big risk, big pay… We need a driver, and word is you’re just the man for it.”

  
He stayed silent a moment, contemplating, one doubt at least eased from his mind. But his silence must have been too long, because the man was speaking once more.

  
“Unless you’d rather keep racing college kids for kicks? In which case, by all means, I’m sure we’ll find another driver for the job.”

_  
That_ snapped Hikaru out of his silence, he turned around eyeing the group with more distrust than he had previously. “When? Where? What?” Voice a little harsher in demand. He suddenly felt exposed, the shadows causing too many places to hide.

  
“You see the man standing by your prized Veyron?” The mystery man said, Hikaru’s eyes instantly narrowed down to said man, standing with his hands behind his back, watching Hikaru. “She’s a beauty, though I’m more of a classic kind of man,” Hikaru heard, a wistful tone in the voice. “He’s an associate of mine,” the topic easily returning to the previous one, “he’ll provide you with more information.”

  
Hikaru wasn’t given a chance to respond as the line went dead, he dropped the device from his ear, making his way back to his Veyron, eyes never leaving the serious man. Only when he stopped a few feet from him did he realize the man wasn’t watching him, but instead his eyes were on the others that had gathered. Calculating their moves.

  
“In your glove box you will find enough funds for a plane ticket to your destination,” Hikaru almost jumped as the man spoke, his tone was void of any emotions, “Please keep your communicator on hand, and expect contact within the week.” He turned at this point, to Hikaru, raising a heavy brow, silently asking him if he understood.

  
For his part, Hikaru was torn between outrage that this man had been inside his vehicle without him realizing it, and in disbelief of what was happening. The man _vibrated_ with no nonsense _professionalism_.

  
"Who are you?” The question was ripped out of his mouth before he could stop it, the man paused a moment, tilting his head, a fraction, as if puzzled for a moment.

  
“He did not tell you.” It was a statement, dripping with such certainty that he knew in that moment the man on this phone, and this one, had years of experience with each other. “The man whom you spoke with is better known as ‘the Captain’, and will properly introduce _himself_ upon your arrival.”

  
“The Captain?” At that Hikaru’s brows lifted, “he hasn’t already been _released_ , has he?” Of course he had heard of The Captain, who hadn’t in the underground? Especially with that spectacularly botched job on the Romulan artifacts. The only thing that had impressed Hikaru about it had been that the guy had taken the complete fall for it, no other member of his crew had been taken down. He had always assumed that it was a larger group of conmen, not a single _person_ , until that job.

  
Spock simply gave him a flat look, not answering.

  
It left so many questions unanswered, but promised that they would be answered, and soon, if Hikaru simply took the plunge. He finally nodded that he understood, Spock accepting this, took a step away. Hikaru watched as Spock glanced once more at the crowd that had ignored them the entire time, then walked away, disappearing into the shadows.

  
Once Hikaru was in his vehicle, he glanced at the glove box, only then did he realize that the stoic man had left giving _no details_ but said they would be waiting for him, ‘upon your arrival.’ They had known what his decision was before he had said otherwise. Probably before they had even made the decision to approach him.

  
He started the ignition and peeled out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The car mentioned for Sulu currently holds the record for being the fastest car in the world. Figured money really isn’t an issue in his line of “work” and it looks futuristic, so it’s kind of a nod to Star Trek, for me anyway. Kind of disregard the fact that he most certainly would have been flagged for dropping that kind of money for the vehicle. Can accurately assume he did not obtain it through legal channels.


	5. The Mechanic and Grease-Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's give you a little two for one, yes? Second driver, mostly mechanic, and the surprise grease-man they didn't expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta say, truly warmed by the reception of this fic. Thanks to those who stuck around for the couple months absence. Here's another chapter as a thanks!

-*-*-*-*-*-*-  
San Diego, California  
-*-*-*-*-*-*-

  
“Mr. Scott.”

  
“Scotty!” came the automatic response from under the hood of the truck. A moment later had Scotty stand up eyes widened when they landed on the two men standing in his shop. “Captain!” He beamed, grabbing his dirty rag, stained with oil and grease to wipe his hands. “yer back! When?” Scottish accent thick.

  
“Not long enough, Scotty,” Jim returned the grin, blue eyes full of joy, not tiring of the same question he’s received over and over. It was a reminder of being missed, and he basked in it.

  
Scotty beamed, putting his hands on his hips, grime stained rag in hand. “So to what do I owe the pleasantness that is you two’s presence?”

  
“Can’t a man just come and visit his friend? It’s been four years, Scotty,” Jim’s grin was warm, though it held a shadow to it that Scotty, graciously, didn’t comment on.

  
“Aye, if it were any other friend, I would to agree with ye,” the mechanic answered, “but you two are not just any other friends. When you two show up, _together_ , there’s always a reason.”

  
At that Jim laughed, a full laugh that bounced around the large shop, “are we so _predictable_ , Spock?” Blue eyes going to Spock, a wild grin on his face, though Spock remained impassive.

  
“Just get on with it you two, I ‘aven’t got all day to be strokin’ yer egos for whit ye came for.” Scotty’s brows wagged, teasing, but with the business air he always carried when being approached for something.

  
At that Jim shook his head in amusement, and Scotty watched as Spock stepped forward. Out of the two, Spock was the most direct, if information was needed Spock was the one to go to, at least if you knew the right questions to ask. Scotty could feel his eyes widen at what he was being told, _three casinos?!_ he thought, and voiced.

  
Jim’s chuckle was low at the exclamation, “they’re the most _convenient_ of the rest on the strip.” The blonde shrugged his shoulders as if that explained everything.

  
Scotty’s mouth was set in a harsh line, “and what do ye need me tae do?” Wanting to roll his eyes when Jim’s grin expanded across his face. They all knew that Jim and Spock coming in person was just a formality.

  
“Mechanic work, driver, you know, just the things you’re best at.” Jim crossed his arms over his chest, the flattery wouldn’t hurt, even if Scotty had already agreed. “It’ll be for a couple of weeks, so plan accordingly, and we’ll meet in four days, you know where.” His blue eyes were alit with delight.

  
“¡¿Semanas?!” Exclaimed a new voice, putting Spock and Jim instantly on alert, if only their shoulders showed the visible sign of their tension. Spock’s dark eyes darted around, the large room having bounced the voice around, while Jim’s clear eyes were on Scotty’s annoyed ones.

  
“Oi! Git down from there! Ye nosey miscreant!” Scotty snapped, ignoring his tense friends, eyes up high towards the corner of the room, hidden in shadows with tire towers stacked about. “Before ye get shot at over a misunderstandin’.”

  
Spock’s dark brows raised at the words, shooting a glance at Jim who raised his back at him, just as confused. They both watched as a dark man, with a wild dark mop of hair popped himself up from a tower of tires, balancing as if effortless. His equally dark eyes surveyed the group, then with a grace to be envied, he _launched_ himself to the nearest beam across the high ceiling.

  
“Tck, showoff,” the Scotsman mumbled, though he watched with a careful eyes as the other man made his way down the beams. Silent but for minor impacts of his hands or feet, landing with a flip in front of them. Standing before them, he came up to an unimpressive height, the top of his untamed hair coming up to _maybe_ Jim’s shoulder.

  
Scotty looked over to the other two gentleman, but paused. Jim had that wild glint in his eyes, and the longer Scotty watched, he saw Spock’s expression pinch, lips in a hard line as he stared back at Jim.

  
“Scotty, think this shop can spare the both of you?” Jim asked, eyes not leaving Spock who had regained composure of his expression and was blank ones more.

  
“Ni siquiera me ha preguntado si estoy interesado en su plan absurdo.” There was a huff of indignation at the words, arms coming to cross around the shorter man’s chest.

  
“If you weren’t interested you wouldn’t have made yourself known,” Jim answered easily, fully relaxed, though Scotty noted that Spock was still tense around his shoulders. Then again, it was always hard to tell with Spock. The dark skinned man simply leveled Jim with a blank stare, though his lips were upturned, determined.

  
Scotty heaved a sigh of frustration, “alright ye two, enough of that. You,” he pointed at Jim, “wee man, Keesner,” pointing to the shorter man, “and I will be at the appointed place, loch we agreed on, an’ if ye don’t mind,” he waved his hand at both Jim and Spock. He threw his dingy rag at Keesner, who simply stood still as it went over his head, “git back to work, I’m not payin’ ye to stand there an’ look pretty.”

  
Keesner grumbled something under his breath, but stocked away, making his displeasure known with heavy stomping. Jim couldn’t help the grin of amusement at the sight.

  
Scotty scoffed, “now, really, ye have tae go if we’re both going to be gone for weeks. There’s some beauties here that are only going tae come back tae life by me.” His eyes met Spock’s, “four days you say?”

  
Spock nodded, “affirmative.”

  
Hasty farewells were exchanged, and Scotty rolled his shoulders as he once more dived under the hood. He snorted under his breath to himself, _always goin’ for the big ones_. Though it was a big payout, Scotty wondered just how they were going pull it off. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and decided that he would push that out of his head, he would find out soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went with Keenser as being Latin because I wanted some flavor in this. He’s not the only one who’s appearance will be different due to this being an AU, hope that doesn't turn anyone away. Here’s the translation of his dialogue:
> 
> “Weeks?!”  
> “He hasn’t even asked me if I’m interested in his absurd plan.”


	6. The Tech

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beauty and brains.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-  
Los Angeles, California  
-*-*-*-*-*-*-

  
There was a resolute feeling of tension in the air. Gaila’s sapphire eyes remained firmly on the Federation agent, small icebergs in their ire, shoulders squared though she was seated and in an enclosed tight space. The silent match of wills continued until the man’s partner cleared his throat.

  
“Perhaps you could maneuver the camera so that we can get a closer look..?” he trailed off, more a question than a request, “please.”

  
Instantly the redhead’s expression morphed, transforming her face to one of beauty, cold lines disappearing but for the chilly air about her eyes. “No problem, Ocean,” her voice light, as she scooted in between the other two, delicate hands moving the camera for a more optimal view.

  
Beside her the other agent stiffened at her proximity, and she had to resist the urge to roll her eyes, “there we go,” she said to herself, intense eyes on the screen even as she leaned back and let the other two get back to their job. She moved away, taking her perch back once more, at the rear of the small surveillance van, but in perfect view if they tried to touch her equipment. Her attention went back to the tome in front of her makeshift table, if one could call it a table, more like a shelf, rubbing her temple she shot the pair another glance. Pulling out the highlighter she had stuck in her hair, she sought out the spot she had left off at, though half her focus was on the other two.

  
Only a few minutes had passed until she saw one of their hands twitching to move forward, “Ryan, that is the best view you’re going to get from here. Either you trust me, or next time ‘Fleet can find someone else to help you round up the Klingon thugs.” Her blue eyes had already been back to the text in front of her, lime green highlighter twirling in her hand. She needed to get through this chapter, not like her professors would give her sympathy just because she was helping put criminals off the street.

_  
And isn’t that just the irony that keeps on giving_ , she thought.

  
Abruptly she was brought out of her thoughts when she realized Ryan was talking to her, “—I mean how do we even know we can trust you, there’s hardly anything in your file.” He had turned fully around, face tinting red when Gaila focused her piercing gaze on him.

  
“Sounds like something you should bring to your _superiors’_ attention.” A sculpted brow rose, “or you can be a good little agent, turn around, and keep your eyes on the screen. You’ll miss the action otherwise.” She definitely rolled her eyes when her words started him back to remind him of why they were in the cramped space, and whirled around, bumping into his partner in the close quarters.

  
Suppressing heaving a sigh she resumed to the text in front of her, though it was a close thing. Her focus was lost, and the job was almost done. The mid-level thugs were always so much easier, cocky as they were. Sure enough, an hour later saw them heading to their designated Federation issued safe-house, a sigh of relief coming out in a whoosh once they arrived. Hastily grabbing her bag, she exited out of the back of the van once parked in the garage having packed up her equipment on the drive, handing off the video evidence to the agents.

  
She wasn’t expecting for Ryan to be standing waiting for her in the kitchen when she walked inside, Ocean no where to be seen. Gaila waited a minute, but Ryan seemed intent on simply staring, as if gathering his wit.

  
“Yes?” Finally Gaila, tired and annoyed, said breaking the silence. She crossed her arms across her chest, her bag secure over her shoulders, chin tilted up.

  
“Let me take you out to dinner,” Ryan blurted out, his caramel skin now tinted the usual red it did around Gaila. “Please,” he added hastily, though he hadn’t broken eye contact with her.

  
Gaila was floored, “are you asking me out on a date?” She asked, reeling, as if seeing Ryan for the first time.

  
He fidgeted at the direct question, but nodded nonetheless, opening his mouth to continue. What he would have said, Gaila wasn’t sure since his communicator took that moment to ring, interrupting the fragile moment. He jumped but immediately went for his device, expression serious the moment he answered, “Ryan.”

  
Fascinated, she watched his face transform from unsure, to serious and then relax in relief while he nodded and spoke to whoever was on the other line. She was so focused that she didn’t realize there was a chirp coming from her own pocket, until he gave her a questioning look. When it finally registered she scrambled, only one person had the line for that chirp, face shown with joy she flipped it open not saying anything waiting for the other person to speak.

  
“Urth, two hours.”

  
Then the line went dead, but her smile was still on her face, even as she tucked the communicator back into her pocket. Ocean had joined them at last, and was watching her with mild curiosity, but she simply shrugged her shoulders, and signaled if she was able to head out. He glanced at his partner, who had his back to them, conversation coming to an end as he snapped his communicator closed.

  
“Looks like we got enough to make a solid case,” he said, though he hadn’t turned around.

  
“About time,” Ocean said, though more enthusiastic than his partner. “Good job, Gaila, we couldn’t have done it without you.” His smile was easy and friendly at her, his stress ebbing away from his shoulders at least for now.

  
She gave him a brilliant smile, “thank you, Ocean, it’s what I do.” Making a show to check the time, “I have to hit the road.” Her eyes bright, “let’s do this again sometime,” her smile turned into a smirk, but that was alright she was needed elsewhere.

  
He nodded at her, though Ryan remained silent. “Stay safe,” and from Ocean she could actually believe he meant it.

  
Nodding she turned, walking to the front door, “is that a no then, Gaila?” Ryan’s voice rang to her between the space. She looked back behind her shoulder, though turned completely around when she saw he had turned to face her. Ocean looked awkward, and as if he wanted the ground to swallow him. Gaila could relate.

  
Shuffling from one foot to the other, “I can’t,” she said, shuffling from one foot to the other, feeling awkward for both of them. “I’m sorry,” though she cursed herself inwardly, she hated apologizing, and even more so hated being caught off guard as he had done.

  
Her “freelance” work couldn’t afford for personal information to be out in the open. It would put to much risk to herself, and those she associated with. Awkwardly she cleared her throat, the silence was getting to her and she looked at the time once more.

  
“I have to go,” not waiting for a response she turned once more and made quick work to exit, wondering just how bad it would be next time she saw the duo.

  
Sighing, she settled into her car as it purred to life, setting her course for Urth and grumbling at the amount of time it would take to just get there. “Damn this traffic,” she said, muttering to herself. Throwing one last glance at the silent house, she pulled out of the driveway, thoughts of Ocean and Ryan forgotten long before she made it to her destination.

  
She ran a hand through her red locks, but otherwise didn’t bother with her appearance. Her work spoke for itself, and he was well aware, otherwise he wouldn’t have called her. The redhead still received the double takes as she stepped into Urth, two minutes before the given time. Her smile was dazzling as she ordered her coffee, already having spotted her target, though his partner was unfamiliar. Blue eyes studied the blonde man, his easy grin, though [_his_](http://www.apple.com) blue eyes were careful and darted to her a couple of times showing his appraisal.

  
Gaila raised a brow one once she was closer, coffee in hand, he simply smirked at her, though she noted that his eyes shown with slight surprise when she sat, “Spock.” Her tone friendly, and eyes going towards the stoic man.

  
Spock nodded in turn, “Gaila, we trust that there was no problem in sparing a moment from your busy schedule?” Which she knew meant that he knew what she had been doing, and was asking if she’d been followed.

  
Shaking her head, red curls moving with her, “no problem at all, my shift had just ended.” Raising her cup, she blew on it lightly, “who’s your friend here?” Done with the security question, though she kept her tone light as if it were simply friends who had met for coffee.

  
“Jim Kirk,” the blonde man, Jim, stated, sticking his hand out towards her, “Spock has told me much about you, says you’re one of the best in your field. Which is high praise coming from him.”

  
Taking the hand in hers, grip firm, she raised a brow at Spock, “is that so? Well there is only one reason for such praise, isn’t there?” Her smile was smug, “I’m just _that_ good.”

  
Jim let out a bark of a laugh, drawing the eyes of nearby customers, he hand dropped back to the table, “well I sure hope you are, since we have an opening on our team that we’d like for you to fill.”

  
She wasn’t an idiot, she knew that if this man was so familiar with Spock, then the job he was offering was strictly off the books.

  
“What kind of opening?” Setting her mug down, she crossed her legs, head tilted in curiosity.

  
“The good kind,” was the quick response, playful and teasing.

  
Gaila had a response ready, but was beaten to it, “it is rude to not answer such a direct and appropriate question, Jim.” Spock stated, though he didn’t look from where he was watching the rolling waves from the beach nearby.

  
“But this is so much more fun,” Jim responded in kind, shooting Gaila a wink.

  
Gaila bristled, she _loved_ the attention she could sometimes gain so easily, but not for _this_ , “I didn’t come for _fun_ , Kirk.” her tone cutting. She had played along to get the feel of Jim, but she had assumed that it was just a smokescreen for a more serious man. Clearly she had been wrong.

  
Spock laid a heavy look on Jim, though expressionless she got the vibe that Jim knew exactly what he was thinking as he met the look right back with his own easy one. It was a familiarity that she was unaccustomed to seeing when dealing with Spock, and it was what put it into place.

  
“You’re _him_ ,” her voice, lowered, but tinted in awe, “you’re the one they call ‘Captain’?” She was sure of it, Spock rarely worked with anyone other than the mysterious man, everyone knew that. His connection was always one that was sought after, but loyal to Spock. Jim’s smug look was enough for her, “when and where do you need me?” She would be a fool to give up the opportunity to work with the legend himself. Her bright eyes shown with determination.

  
“Las Vegas,” Spock answered, handing her a business card, mostly blank but for Jim’s name on one side and an address written on the back. “three days,” he said in finality.

  
She nodded and tucked the card away, “three days then.” She checked the time once more, it wouldn't be enough for a visit, not even a quick one. But perhaps a lengthy call, video if she got lucky. Downing the rest of her, now lukewarm, coffee, she rose to her feet. “Always a pleasure gentlemen.”

  
Jim gave her a warm smile, his blue eyes though still calculating, regarded her more with open companionship and respect. Spock gave her a nod in farewell once she had stood, and with a lighter step, she walked away, marveling at how different it was walking away from criminals than it was from two men that followed the law.

  
She much preferred the former.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urth is an actual coffee shop near Santa Monica, and the comment about traffic is my own experience. If you’ve ever been to the L.A. area of California, you can relate. It can take over an hour to just go 15 miles down the road.


	7. The Munitions Expert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fire in the hole!

-*-*-*-*-*-*-  
Los Angeles, California  
-*-*-*-*-*-*-

  
Carol’s work requires her full attention, sure hands quickly securing the compounds and readying the detonator. She sent a silent thank you, that at least _this time_ with _this crew_ they’re silent, mostly because she intimidates them. The blonde prefers it that way, quick and easy jobs with a silent crew are always best, making no bonds but those of secrecy.

  
“Alright, mates,” is the only warning she gives as she makes a quick sweep that no member is in the line of fire, pressing the detonation button, a round of contained explosions going off. Music to her ears. She peeks around the corner, signaling to the others to move forward once she saw that her explosives had all detonated.

  
Her grin stretches across her face, letting the others swing open the vault with ease. She steps forward victoriously, her boots barely making contact with the floor when a shrill noise is heard. Nostrils flaring she whirls around, eyes flashing, “You _idiots_! You had _one_ bloody job to do!”

  
Blue eyes were murderous, and resigned. The security system would have locked them in the building automatically, alerting the authorities. She mumbled under her breath, keeping herself distracted by thinking of ways of how to, slowly and painfully, end her team’s lives over what would have been a _painfully easy_ robbery.

  
She turned quickly once she began to hear the tell signs of heavy boots, police boots, coming their way, arms going up automatically once she saw them slowly round the corner. “We’re unarmed,” she knew the drill, though she hated this part and her mind was supplying all scenarios of what would happen next.

  
The uniformed men hesitated, as they always did, when they heard her voice and saw her slight frame. _Always underestimated,_ she thought with a grimace as she was cuffed and dragged away, hating the shame that burned inside of her at being dragged out into the open like a dog.

  
Some time later, her patience being highly tested, she stands while the towering form of the policeman repeatedly questions the unsuccessful robbery.

  
“And you’re _sure_ that’s all you used during the event? Nothing else?” He asked, for the fifth time, Carol finally snapped, eyes cold.

  
“Are you accusin’ me of booby trappin’?” Her accent coming out in a thick wave.

  
“Booby traps are not Miss. Wallace’s signature.” A third voice comes through, breaking up the repetitive conversation.

  
The cop spins around, eyes narrowing at the imposing figure Spock makes in a dark suit, expression ever neutral, though his eyes flicker for a moment to meet Carol’s who look back in genuine surprise for a beat, before it’s quickly masked back to confusion.

  
“Miss Wallace?” Spock says, getting her to focus once more, quick on her feet.

  
“That’s right.” She juts her chin up a bit, defiantly.

  
Carol watches, always impressed with Spock’s methods, as he briefly flashes his badge to the officer, and introducing himself as ‘Grey.’ She has to fight back a smile, catching on to the name.

  
“Correct me if I am wrong, officer, but I presume that a simple G4 mainliner, double-coil, backwound, quick fuse with a drag under 20 feet was used?” A thick, dark brow was raised, the officer, stunned, could only nod. Spock stepped forward, eyes now on Carol, “have you checked her for booby traps on her person? Not just for weapons.”

  
The man looks bewildered, his own morals having automatically stopped him from searching Carol because of her gender. He looked uncertain as Spock took the decision from him, stepping forward and turning Carol around towards the police vehicle. To anyone else it would have seen as if he was manhandling her, his left hand on her upper back to keep her in place.

  
“Please locate Malloy, and tell her I need her here.” He said absently, almost as if under his breath, his hands shoving a familiar item into Carol’s hand that his body kept concealed from the officer. “Now.” He said firmly, when the officer questioned to repeat himself.

  
The tall man hesitated a moment longer, then bolted, Spock quickly removing his hand from Carol’s back. “My apologizes, Miss Wallace.” He helped her upright, quickly, “how much time do we have?” he hadn’t pulled away from having her close to the police vehicle, shielded, knowing her hands were at work behind her. A loud click is heard.

  
“Thirty seconds,” she says, by way of response. Quickly putting her feet under her as Spock’s strong hand grabbed around her elbow and leads her away, casually, but in a hurried pace. Placing a key in her hands she quickly made work of the cuffs, but kept her hands behind her while they were still near the scene. “Is the Captain back?” Not being able to hide the excitement, and small hope, from her voice, her blue eyes glancing at Spock.

  
“Yes,” Spock’s quite response followed.

  
“Terrific, it’ll be wonderful to work with professionals again.”A pop could be heard behind them, “go.” She says in an exhale, breaking into a quick sprint, excited laughter hidden with the noise of the chaos erupting behind them. The quick, small explosive made for a well distraction, providing cover for them to make it around the block.

  
Her smile became warm when her eyes landed on Jim, leaning against the vehicle. “Jim,” she breathed out, closing the steps between them and throwing her arms around him, in a quick embrace, pulling back after a beat to climb into the vehicle, Spock already in the driver seat, as Jim joined him in the passenger side.

  
“How long?” She asked, shedding off her gloves, letting her fair hair down to frame her face, running a hand through it.

  
“Five days ago,” Jim responded, turning back in his seat to look at her, his smirk was infectious.

  
She shook her head, “didn’t take you very long at all then,” she said knowingly, “where’s Leonard?” Instantly she knew it was the wrong thing to ask, his expression hardened around the edges, even if his smirk didn’t slip.

  
“Working,” Jim supplied, and he looked away, concealing whatever was trying to show through.

  
Nothing was said after that. She only spoke up to respond to Spock who had taken up to telling her about a job, one she knew she had already accepted the moment Spock had stepped forward in her defense.

  
“Comm me with the time and place,” she said by way of formally accepting, a second before opening the door and stepping out, “I’ll be there.” She closed the door behind her, not looking back as she began to climb the narrow steps of the stoop. Though she was thrilled to be doing an actual job that would challenge her like no other, she was worried. As a friend she wanted to push Jim into telling her what was going on, but it felt as if she didn’t know that friend anymore.

  
She supposed she didn’t, he had been gone for four years. It wasn’t as if it would be easy for any of them to visit him with their own records as they were. Carol had self had gone underground, covered her tracks when she had heard that they had begun digging into Jim's past. It had isolated her from knowing anything that had happened in the year after Jim's arrest, now she had too many questions and no answers. She pushed her door open, closing it behind her and pulling the lock securely. She stood their a moment, the car ride playing in her mind, allowing herself a selfish moment to worry for her friend.

  
When she opened her eyes she was ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't particularly care for this chapter. I've rewritten it several times.. but well, without a beta I have no sounding board. Hope it's alright as is, I've been silent for far too long and up to chapter 11 have already been written (there's so much more than that, that needs to be done).


	8. The Financial Support

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because who else could back up the crew?

-*-*-*-*-*-*-  
Las Vegas, Nevada  
-*-*-*-*-*-*-

  
  
“Are you out of your _damn_ minds?” Pike’s lips were pressed in a harsh line, surveying Jim and Spock across from him. “When you,” gaze on Spock, “commed me that you would be dropping by, I expected more wit, and less stupid.” His observant eyes went between the two when neither of them responded, “you listen to me, the both of you. I know more about casino security than any man alive. It cannot be beaten! Between the cameras, watches, locks, timers, vaults, and armed personnel, you’re _asking_ to be caught.” He rattled off, counting on his fingers.

  
“It’s never been tried,” Jim said, casually, speaking once Pike was done with his outburst.

  
Pike gave him a hard look, “it’s been tried, Jim.” He crossed his arms where he stood, shoulders squared. “There have only been _three_ _semi-successful_ casino robberies in Vegas, the _most_ successful ended up dead in the Caesar driveway.” Pike paused, making sure he had Jim’s attention, knowing Spock was listening. “But what am I saying? You two are _professionals_ , the best,” his tone had mild contempt, “of course, don’t forget, once you’re out the front door, you’re still in the middle of the _damn desert._ ”

  
“You’re right, Pike.” Jim said after a beat and glance to Spock, “he’s right.”

  
“Affirmative,” Spock responded, gaze still on Pike.

  
Pike’s eyes narrowed at the other two sitting going between them, “thanks for setting us straight, just pure ego. Sorry we bothered you,” Jim said standing in one fluid movement, Spock following.

  
“Look, Jim,” Pike’s arms uncrossing, “we all go way back, but this can’t be done.”

  
“I heard you, Pike,” Jim gives him an easy smile, looking at Spock and jerking his head towards the exit. Spock nods to Pike in a farewell, walking next to Jim.

  
“Out of curiosity,” Pike calls out before the other two are completely out of the room, “which casinos did you geniuses plan to hit?” He had turned around, his eyes on the younger men as they turned to face him.

  
“The Bellagio, Mirage, and the M.G.M. Grand.” Spock supplied, readily as Pike knew he would.

  
Pike’s expression darkened, “those are Nero’s casinos,” tone tight. “What do _you two_ have against Nero?” Eyeing the two suspiciously, they were on the edge of something.

  
“What do _you_ have against him?” Jim grinned, rocking on the balls of his feet.

  
Pike gave out a heavy sigh, “he muscled me out of my casino.” There was an edge of shame to Pike’s voice, not wanting to admit it out loud, “now he’s going to raze it next month for some gaudy monstrosity, he plans on calling The Narada.” He narrowed his eyes again at the two, already ten steps ahead, “don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing.”

  
“And what’s that?” Jim gave a look of innocence, one that Pike could see right through.

  
“If you’re going to make a hit on Nero, you might as well know.. When you’re done with this, because _you’re_ crazy enough to go through with it, warning or not,” he said, looking at Jim, “and _you’re_ smart enough to at least get him out in one piece,” his gaze shifted to Spock. “But Nero better not know you’re involved, not know your names, or better yet, think you’re dead. Because otherwise, he’ll kill you, _then_ he’ll go after those around you.”

  
Jim’s smile turned sharp, a predatory gleam in his eye, “that’s why we’re going to be careful, precise. We have to be well-funded.” It was all business from there, both Spock and Jim giving more details reeling in Pike.

  
Pike knew he had been manipulated, the moment they had said the casinos were Nero’s he wouldn’t have been able to turn away. Hell the moment both Spock _and_ Jim had walked in the door, he knew he’d back up whatever _insane_ plan the kid had. That it would bring him satisfaction to be part of the crew to hit Nero, hard, was just an added bonus.

  
“Now, more importantly, _who_ do you have in mind for this?”

  
“Well…” Jim said, giving Spock a nod to take over and get Pike up to speed on the crew they had already begun to assimilate.

  
“Christine Chapel, she will be instrumental as she has infiltrated the casino at a different location. It has been confirmed that she will be ‘transferring’ to warmer climates within the week, due to a severe case of bronchitis.” This is what Pike remembered of the duo, Jim with his large, reckless ideas and Spock with the skills to gather the right people to help get it done.

  
“Drivers?” Pike questioned.

  
“Two, Hikaru Sulu and Montgomery Scott,” Spock paused, head tilted slightly as if remembering something, “Hikaru Sulu is currently in Salt Lake City, no known associate is aware of him being part of any activity in the last six months. Sources say that he could use the.. stimulation. While Mr. Scott is in San Diego, and in association with our grease-man, a man by the name of Keenser.” The name was pronounced carefully.

  
“Tech.” Excitement starting to bubble up in Pike as it always did when a job was being laid down with the foundation of a good crew.

  
“Gaila.” Spock pursed his lips, “she has been doing freelance work as of late for The Federation. She is extremely thorough, and professional. I also suggest,” he turned his gaze to Jim, “to not underestimate her.” Jim raised a blonde brow, and Pike had to hide a chuckle into a cough.

  
“Noted, Spock, thank you. Munitions?” Pike asked, clearing his throat.

  
He settled more, once Spock turned his dark gaze on him, but focus elsewhere, “Carol Wallace, she—”

  
“Wallace?!” Pike exclaimed, “how did you convinced _her_?”

  
Spock responded by raising a brow at the interruption, “she _did_ take some convincing, as her schedule would not have allowed it otherwise. But she has agreed.”

  
The silence hung for a moment once he had concluded, shifting his stance a bit to signal he was done. Pike pondered the list, arms crossed once more, Jim was matching his expression, “we need Uhura,” Pike said, shooting a look at Spock.

  
Pike watched as Spock’s expression remained neutral, not knowing the details, but _knowing_ something was there between Spock and Uhura. Something that had started to unravel when Jim was caught. “She will not comply. She expressed her retirement a year ago.” The stoic man supplied.

  
Jim’s expression turned puzzled, and Pike could see that he had questions in his eyes, “did she get religious all of a sudden?”

  
“No.”

  
“Then it won’t hurt you to _ask_.” Jim retaliates.

  
There’s a beat where Pike thinks that Spock will refuse, but a second later Spock simply responds with, “very well.”

  
Jim nods, confident that Spock will convince the woman to come out of her early retirement. A silence hangs once more, Pike pondering and mentally calculating figures in his mind for the cost. For anyone else it would have become overwhelming, but in his line of business he knew that the biggest risks were usually the ones with the best outcome.

  
“Ten should do it, don’t you think?” Jim’s question is directed at Spock, Pike half paying attention, “you think we need one more?” He glances at the two, Spock not responding to Jim, as if silently communicating with the blonde. _Which for as well as those two work together, they might as well,_ Pike thought, giving a soft snort that was ignored. “You think we need one more.” Jim heaves a heavy sigh, “Okay, we’ll get one more. _I’ll_ get one more.” Jim quickly corrects.

  
Pike finally sees Spock’s posture relax, though only just.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this on whether to call him Chris or Pike. I’m still not sure I made the right decision, but it sat better with me so I’m sticking to it.


	9. The New Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More than a young face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm forever delayed on my updates. No matter how quickly I internally intend to keep a schedule (of sorts). Thank you to those who have continued to stay with this, it is greatly encouraging!

-*-*-*-*-*-*-  
Chicago, Illinois  
-*-*-*-*-*-*-

  
Chekov muttered to himself, large eyes downcast to the dogeared book he held open in his hand, complex equations staring back at him. His curls framed his young face, making him appear much younger, enhanced when he bites his bottom lip seemingly in thought. His body swayed with the movements of the train, his footing a little unsteady. To anyone it appears that he is in deep thought, brows pulled together, eyes singularly focused on the numbers in his sight. It’s a persona he’s worked on perfecting, innocent, underestimated and forgettable.

  
It is the same persona that when the next curve comes he clumsily bumps into the stockbroker standing close to him, dexterous fingers making quick work of the expensive leather wallet that’s been peeking out of his coat. In the blink of an eye he has it tucked into his own coat pocket, muttering a quick apology and turning so as to secure his hand on a pole, a simple pretense.

  
He misses the bright blue eyes that have watched his lift, impressed and highly amused. At the next stop he disembarks, leaving behind the unknowing victim. He zig zags through the other commuters expertly, except for the brief brush of a blond, well dressed, man who appears to be in a hurry. Chekov is almost a block from the station when he reaches in his pocket for his spoils, but frowns immediately when he feel sit empty. Empty but for a business card with the name engraved in simple print  _ Jim T. Kirk _ . On the back, in a quick scrawl is written, “Nice pull. Murphy’s Bar, Rush & Division.”

  
The young man’s stomach drops and he looks around, bright eyes quickly assessing if anyone is watching him. His green eyes looked back down at the card, figuring he has nothing to lose, had it been a cop watching him they would have arrested him already. Shoving his hands in his pockets once more, he pulls forward, making his way to the specified dive.

  
———

  
Five minutes later finds Chekov staring at the entrance of the bar, shifting from one foot to another. Most bars don’t even let him in because of his young look, but taking a deep breath he opens the door, making a quick glance of the inside. He catches the bartenders’ eye for a moment, but just as quickly they brush over him. Chekov easily spots his intended target, a blond man with a drink half gone, and the leather wallet on the high top table. Casually he steps forward until he’s standing across from the man, glancing down at the wallet just once.

  
“Hello Chekov,” says the older man, “have a seat.”

  
His suggestion is more of a request, but Chekov finds himself unable to move, “who are you?”

  
“A friend of Gary’s. Sit.” The command is repeated, this time the blue eyes are amused when the young man readily sits. “Gary told me about you, said you were the best hands he ever saw. Didn’t expect to find you working wallets on the train.”

  
“Zat vas not work, zat vas practice.” Chekov replies.

  
The blond doesn’t comment further, simply putting his hand inside his coat and withdrawing a very obvious plane ticket, setting it on the table next to the wallet. He rests his hand lightly on it.

  
“You’re either in or out, right now.”

  
“Vat is it?”

  
“A plane ticket.” Chekov’s jaw clenches at the tone, as if the blond didn’t know what Chekov had meant with his question. “A job offer.”

  
“You are trusting, very fast.”

  
“Gary has a lot faith in you.”

  
“Da, mentors are like zat.” At his statement Jim’s brows raise in a show of surprise, “he does not vant me to vork on his name.” Chekov offers as an explanation, an honest one for the subtle praise and reference he received from Gary.

  
“You do this, and you’ll be trading on your own name.” Chekov remained silent, though his bright eyes didn't move away from the ticket under Jim’s hand. “If you say no, we’ll get someone else. Maybe they won’t be as good. But you can go back to feeling up stockbrokers.” Jim’s blue eyes are intense, watching the younger man, almost a boy, who’s own sea green are on the wallet and plane ticket beneath Jim’s hands.

  
Chekov can feel the gaze, but refuses to squirm under the scrutiny. Finally, he reaches forward, fingers lightly tugging on the plane ticket, decision made. Jim’s hand lifts enough for it to slide completely to Chekov’s dexterous fingers, eyes quickly scanning the information.

  
“Las Vegas,” he comments.

  
“America’s playground for our kind, only the big kids go there.” The older man’s tone is teasing, but serious.

  
“Da,” Chekov says in agreement, “zis is for tomorrow?” A questioning gaze shot up to the man, suddenly wondering if he’d jumped into his decision too hastily.

  
Jim nods, though then shakes his head to further confuse Chekov. “The team is gathering tomorrow, where, if you accept, you’ll learn more details about the job, otherwise, it’s a free trip to Vegas.”

  
It’s too tempting for Chekov to not take the offer. Too long had he been under Gary’s shadow and influence, unable to break away from it, no matter how far he traveled, or how much he proved himself and his skills.

  
“Tomorrow,” he says as at length, standing in a fluid motion, signaling his departure.

  
It’s only when he’s almost to the door that he hears Jim’s laugh, “that’s the best one I’ve seen you do  _ yet _ !” come the man’s highly amused words.

  
Chekov doesn’t turn, but he allows himself a self satisfied smirk, pushing the door to exit, his hand clenched securely around the plane ticket, and the stockbroker’s wallet.


	10. The Impersonator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming out of retirement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled so much with this chapter. Nyota is one of my favorite characters, and I don’t think she gets enough credit in the fanfic world. I lost count over how many times I rewrote this thing. Those who have seen the Ocean’s Eleven movie, I’m sure you know that some of these chapters are not completely from the movie, and some are. Hope it gives it enough of a kick where it’s not completely dull.

****-*-*-*-*-*-*-  
Miami, Florida  
-*-*-*-*-*-*-

  
Nyota _loved_ the beach, the feel of the ocean spray, and the heat of the sun on her dark skin. She loved the tranquility of closing her eyes, and the red tint she saw from behind her lids from the sun, and the sand that would inevitably cling to her.

  
She did _not_ love when her self-imposed isolation was interrupted by someone sitting next to where she lay. She remained unmoving, she knew who it was, and knew he was the only one who could approach her so quietly.

  
“I saw you at the concession stand before I had even set a foot in the sand,” she said, without opening her eyes from behind her dark sunglasses.

  
“Nyota.”

  
“Spock,” her tone was clipped, and she finally opened her eyes, turning her head slightly towards him. She had to squint slightly, but she could make him out with his dark hair, and fair skin. Sighing she sat up, bending her knees up and resting her arms on them, and turning her eyes to the ocean.

  
A silence hung between them, comfortable, as it had always been. Her dark eyes stayed on the crashing waves, she could feel his heavy gaze on her profile, but she knew he wouldn’t be the one to make the first move. Spock preferred the silence, he wouldn’t be the one to break it.

  
“Are you going to ask me? Or should I say no now and get it over with?” Nyota asked, though there was no anger behind her voice. She dug her toes a little further into the sun-heated sand.

  
“Would asking change your answer?” Spock said, by way of _not_ answering. She fought to not roll her eyes, but simply shrugged.

  
“I live a simple life now, Spock. A small home, a part-time job, and even some _normal_ friends. I’ve changed.” Her tone was light as she described her new life, but it lacked the warmth she wished she could push into it.

  
Spock shifted to a more comfortable position, his gaze finally shifting out to the ocean, “those in our line of _work_ never truly change. We either sharpen our skills, or simply lose finesse. We do not change.”

  
A laughter bubbled up from Nyota, light and with a relieved exhale as if she had been expecting that response, and the tension suddenly dissipated.

  
“You’re trying to con _me_?” Shaking her head she finally turned her head towards him, removing her sunglasses and leveling him with an amused look. “At least tell me what the scam is.”

  
Over the crash of the waves, and the screaming children at a distance, Spock leaned in slightly, giving her the barest outline he believes he could in such a public setting.

  
“That’s _it_?” She raises an eyebrow, “you’re not going to give me more than that?” Nyota was disappointed, he had given her an outrageous suggestion for taking on three casinos in Las Vegas. But nothing more than with a large team, and a ‘details to come’ hanging after that.

  
“Should you wish to learn more, I encourage you to go to Pike’s. Jim will explain in further details at that time.” Spock supplied, handing her a slim envelope she easily recognized to contain a plane ticket.

  
“I thought he had two more years?” Giving Spock a sharp look, though deft fingers pulled the envelope from his grasp.

  
“He was released early, on good behavior.”

  
If Nyota didn’t know better she would have said that Spock was joking. She snorted anyway, amused at the irony, “good behavior. Who would have thought?”

  
“Indeed.”

  
Once more she looked away, tilting her head up into the sun while she thought. Truthfully he hadn’t offered her much of any information. But the job wasn’t what kept circling in her mind, it was his words. Try as she might she couldn’t deny that he was _right_ . Her life was plain, simple, and content, but she had never been able to go into a bank and think _how easy would it be to get through that security_. The life she thought she left behind was coming back, welcoming her with open arms.

  
She came out of her musings when Spock shifted once more, Nyota raised a brow in question.

  
He wasn’t looking at her though, his dark eyes were on the waves once more, “none would think less of you should you decline.” He said, a sincerity in his voice that she was privy to hear, “Jim would understand.”

  
She followed his gaze at that, a heavy weight at his words. They were reassuring in their truth. Flashes of memory raced in her mind, that twice-damned botched job that changed _everything_ for her. She had been reckless, overconfident on feeling invincible, thinking they were always one step ahead of the game. But those flashing red and blue lights had never turned her blood colder than they did that day. Nyota could still remember Jim’s commanding voice in her ear, telling her to run and finally shoving her to move, sealing himself inside. She had stuck to the shadows, knowing she had to keep moving and leave the blond behind. He had provided the distraction her, Spock and Scotty had needed to get out, though it killed her to turn her back.

  
After that it was a blur, she still couldn’t quite remember how they made it out undetected to their meeting point. Simply that the news covered the attempted robbery for just a blip, Jim’s name not even mentioned. When she’d finally decided to walk away from the con-life she had only met Spock’s resistance. His argument that they were in too deep to attempt at life at normal, that they were no longer _normal,_ had _almost_ won her over, if not for the clear reality that her friend, _Jim_ , was sentenced to six years without his freedom. _Six years_ , because when you attempt grand robbery, the Federation comes in and starts digging. Nyota had walked away, resolute to never return, but how could she turn her back on him again?

  
She _knew_ Jim would understand, that it was a risk they all took when they did any job. Her fingers ran alongside the edges of the envelope still in her hand, almost absently.

  
“Tell him I’ll be there.” Her jaw was set, sunglasses firmly back in place, when Spock looked away from the waves.

  
“Very well,” Spock said, if he was surprised, even she couldn’t tell. He stood after a moment, lightly brushing off the sand that had inevitably stuck to him. As silently as he had arrived, he departed, leaving Nyota to relax once more under the sun as if he had never been there.

  
The waves still crashed along the sand, the children still laughed and cried out in the distance, and the unmistakable smell of the beach was soothing to her senses. She was walking away again, but this time, she was walking away from a life she never was supposed to have, a life not meant for her. A tension in her shoulders she didn’t even realize she had, eased at the thought.


	11. The Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title says it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this fic I am using “credits” as the universal currency (per Star Trek). Though it never mentions actual paper currency, for the sake of my fic, just imagine that credits are also paper. It’s simply the actual TERM that is used worldwide. Yay for creative liberty.

 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-  
Las Vegas, Nevada  
-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 

Jim looked around, Spock’s steady and reassuring presence at his side. Christine and Carol were quietly chatting with Pike, a familiarity born from years of working together. Hikaru, or _Sulu_ , as he preferred to be called, had quickly caught Scotty’s eye glad to know a more familiar face in the room, who had surprisingly bonded quickly with Chekov, and were going back and forth on the subject of engines and _physics_. Keesner was perched near Scotty, balancing effortlessly on the back of the sofa, Pike’s eye heavy in disapproval. Gaila stood off on the corner, nose buried in her phone, but drink in her hand and Jim was sure her eyes were watching everyone’s movements. A soft chime signaled the arrival of their final crew mate.

  
Pike broke away from Christine and Carol, moving through his home to get the door. Jim could hear the voices of an exchanged greeting, tones light. Gaila, Jim noted, had perked up as well, curious to see who had finally arrived to round out their group. When Nyota walked in Jim saw her eyes sweep through the room, until they finally landed on him. Her expression was one of surprise, and complete _joy,_  though with a sadness and layered guilt. She was already walking towards him, her smile genuine when she stopped in front of him as if she couldn’t believe he was actually standing in front of her.

  
The blond grinned easily, “Nyota,” he said, instantly getting the fond exasperation he had missed from her, surprised a moment later as she pulled him into an embrace.

  
“I hope you know what you’re doing, _Captain_ ,” she said softly to him before pulling away, her tone mostly fond, but with always the undercurrent of seriousness when it came to her. “ _Uhura_ ,” she said out loud, as if she didn’t remind him, _every time_ , he called her by her first name. She received a chuckle for her trouble.

  
“Alright, ladies, gentlemen,” Jim said, moving forward so as to draw attention to himself to those gathered, “welcome to Las Vegas. Most of you have worked with someone else in the room, or at least know _of_ each other. Though you probably haven’t met Pavel Chekov, Gary’s protege from Russia.” The young man gives a hasty nod around the room, slightly nervous to be announced in a room full of well known thieves. “Before we start, no one here is truly obligated to continue yet. The job is both highly lucrative _and_ extremely dangerous.” Jim’s tone was serious, it always was when giving a debriefing about a job, “if you don’t think that’s something you’re up for, help yourself to the food that’s been provided and have a safe journey home. No hard feelings.” There was a heavy pause, as if waiting for someone to move, “otherwise, come with me.”

  
He moved through the room, Spock and Uhura close behind him, followed by the rest who trailed behind in small groups, some having taken a second to think over Jim’s words. Jim stands in a game room, a detailed replicated model of the three casinos and Strip on the billiard table, a large screen behind him with very obvious layout of a blueprint. Blue eyes track the members as they trickle in, Pike and Chekov rounding out the rear.

  
_Good. All eleven._

_  
_ Jim exhaled, catching Spock’s eye for a brief moment, “the Bellagio vault,” he motions to the replica on the table, “located below the Strip, beneath two hundred feet of solid earth. It holds every dime that comes through each of the three casinos above it, and we’re going to rob it.” He says, voice full of confidence and such finality that he leaves little room to doubt. But he sees the questions pop up before anyone has even said anything, can feel Uhura’s questioning gaze, and Pike’s watchful one. Only Sulu and Chekov seem truly surprised, Chekov possibly overwhelmed.

  
“A little more complicated than a smash-and-grab,” Sulu says, dark eyes on the model. There’s a murmur of agreement.

  
“A bit,” Jim says, grin in his voice, “Spock, if you will.”

  
Spock straightens, all eyes moving towards the imposing man, “Nancy Carter,” he nods to Christine who returns it with a smile, “a new blackjack dealer at the Bellagio, was able to provide us with these security tapes from the three casinos.” He nods to Jim who uses the remote in his hand to begin the feed on the screen, as they all watch how the three casino cages merge into one under the tunnels, eventually into the vault. “The first matter of business, is security. The Bellagio, which will be our base, houses a security system that could rival most nuclear missile silos. We will first need to get within the casino cages.”

  
He pauses to allow the words to soak in to anyone who might even feel remotely overwhelmed, Spock was not keen on repeating himself. “Next, through these doors,” he moved to point to the appropriate replicas, “which will require a different six-digit code that changes every twelve hours. Once through the doors there is an elevator, which will not move without authorized fingerprint identifications, and vocal confirmation from both the security center within the Bellagio and the vault below.”

  
“Which we can’t fake,” Jim interjects breezily.

  
“Furthermore,” Spock presses on, “the elevator shaft is rigged with motion detectors. If we manually override the lift, the shaft’s exit will lock down automatically and we will be trapped.”

  
“Once we’ve gotten down the shaft, though,” Jim continues, “there’s only three more armed guards, and the most elaborate vault door conceived by man.” He beams at his assembled crew, “any questions?” He looks up, and around at the men and women gathered around the table, all eyes on the model, and silent.

  
“¿Por qué no simplemente entramos por debajo de la bóveda?” Keesner asks, speaking up for the first time. Most have a look of confusion at the language except for Jim, Uhura, Spock and Scotty.

  
Jim shakes his head in the negative, turning his gaze to the greaseman, “there’s Richter scales monitoring the ground for one hundred yards in every direction. If groundhog tried to nest there, they’d know about it. Anyone else?” He asks, glancing around again.

  
“Aye,” Scotty said, “is there any good news?”

  
The grin returns, full force, on Jim as if he’d been waiting for someone to ask. “Per the Nevada Gaming Commission, it’s stipulated that a casino must hold in reserve enough credits to cover every chip at play on it’s floor. As I mentioned, this vault,” he taps on the replica in the middle, “services each of the three casinos above it. So during the week, by law, it must hold anywhere from sixty to seventy million credits. On a weekend, between eighty and ninety million.” He watched as eyebrows started to rise, numbers and calculations behind their eyes. “On a fight night, like the one two weeks from tonight, the night we’re going to rob it, at least a hundred and fifty million. Each of us with an equal share,” he shrugs, smug, “you do the math.”

  
There’s a moments pauses while they do just that, brows pulled forward in mental thought.

  
“Shit,” Gaila swears, having figured out the numbers quickly.

  
“I have a question,” Uhura says, breaking the silence that began to descend once more, her dark eyes landed on Jim’s. “Let’s say, that we do make it into the cage, through the security doors, and down the elevator we can’t move, past the guards with the guns, and into the vault we can’t open—”

  
“Without being seen by the cameras,” Jim interrupts, “sorry, forgot to mention that.”

  
Uhura gives him an unimpressed look, but refrains from commenting, “right, so let’s say we do all that… We’re just supposed to walk right on out with a hundred million credits? Without getting stopped?” She raised a dark brow, challenging Jim to reassure her with a good answer.

  
“Yeah,” Jim answers, his grin not wavering. Him and Uhura stare at each other for a heavy moment, though she finally seems satisfied and nods.

  
“Great! Here’s how we’ll begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keesner translation:  
> Why don’t we just enter from below the vault?
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter also signifies the last one that I have ready to post. Any going further will be posted as they are written and edited (by me).


End file.
